Rising Up
by Emperor of Aces
Summary: Four agents of Derse have been exiled to the destroyed planet of Alternia. They are the ones destined to rebuild what has been lost. From dust and rocks, they will be the ones to rise up. /Spades Slick and the Midnight Crew/


"Rising Up"

The sun is relentless. Its heat is almost unbearable, even with the dignitary's body entirely encased in white wrappings. Save for himself, his companions, and that damnable sun, there is nothing but an endless expanse of sand. The wind howls over the desert dunes, kicking up stinging golden swirls and causes him to tighten his wrappings for protection. Behind him, a burly figure trudges along, cradling a feverish little bundle in his huge arms, and ahead of the dignitary walks their leader, Jack, cussing and complaining, but marching forever onward.

Were it not that he shares Jack's desires for a new beginning, the dignitary would think the other man's efforts comical and most definitely foolish.

This world is dead.

He doesn't say it to Jack or to the brute holding the ill young man, but he doubts any life can rise from the ashes. He suspects Jack is aware of this as well but, stubborn as always, refuses to admit it. After all, they drank the last of their water yesterday afternoon and had not seen any prey to hunt in days. It will only be a matter of time before dehydration sets in, and shortly after that they'll be joining the rest of this world's unfortunate inhabitants. If they are the ones destined to repopulate this dead planet, the dignitary fails to see how.

"Hey, you up there, could ya slow down?" It's the brute, clutching his tiny burden close to his chest. "Yer goin' kind of fast. I don't want to run while holding this little guy." Brow pinched in worry, he looks down at the bundle for emphasis.

The dignitary pauses and turns to face the brute, then he jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards Jack. "Tell that to him. I don't set the pace."

He thinks then that he should offer to carry the kid for a while, but the bundle looks limp and sad, so he keeps his mouth shut. Those two have become quite close during their time together. If the kid isn't going to make it, the dignitary decides it's best to let him die in the arms of his good friend. The small young man has been a help, so he deserves that much at least.

"Could you tell him fer me, then?" the brute calls back.

The dignitary sighs. He wishes the brute would just shut up, but he looks towards Jack anyway. "Jack, slow-"

Jack's arm shoots out to the side, motioning for the dignitary to silence himself. "It's not Jack, it's Scurrilous Straggler."

The dignitary rolls his eyes, thankful that the hot-tempered Jack can't see them from where he's standing. "Alright then, Scurrilous Straggler," this he says through teeth gritted in annoyance, "would you please slow down? The others are having difficulties keeping up and you are not going to arrive at your_...destination _any safer by moving at this pace."

Jack leans on his wooden walking stick and glares at the dignitary. His mouth is obscured by his brown wrappings, but his narrow white eyes look wild and shrunken in their sockets. He looks insane.

"No." Jack shakes his head, filthy cloth flapping. "No, no, I will not slow down."

At that the dignitary takes a glance over his shoulder. What he sees makes him frown. The brute is peeling back the cloth protecting the kid from the sun and is pressing a meaty hand to the young man's child-like face. The boy looks emaciated and sickly, the flesh around his closed eyes an unhealthy pinkish color. The dignitary can almost feel the feverish carapace beneath his own hand as he watches the brute tentatively brush the boy's forehead.

He clenches his fists and then grabs the back of Jack's hood. "Screw you, we're stopping."

Jack whirls and swats the dignitary's hand away. "Fuck you. We're close, I can feel it. And I ain't stopping just because you guys want to take a goddamn break, at least, not while we're this close."

"Close to what?" The dignitary throws his thin arms out and turns as through surveying his surroundings. "All this sand? Damn it Ja-Straggler, you're losing it. Look at yourself, look at _them_," he points towards the brute holding the young man, "do you really think we can go on for much longer? Let's face it, Straggler, we're done."

"Shut up. Just hold on for a bit longer and we'll be there." He hefts his bag, nearly empty save for some meager first-aid items, and gathers his walking stick. The madness in his eyes is heartrendingly optimistic. "I know it."

"Almost there? Where is there, Straggler?" The dignitary grabs Jack by the shoulders and squeezes, letting his claws dig in through the cloth. He gives the other Dersite a jolting shake "There is nothing here but desert. I know you want to live, to be the great man that saves this planet from making a trip down the drain, but have a reality check. And if not a reality check, at least let those two-"

He is unable to finish his sentence for Jack's stick collides with his jaw. Pain erupts in his mouth and he staggers back, wiping a rivulet of hot blood from his chin. He spits and amidst the gore and drool is a solitary fang.

The dignitary is shaking, his anger becoming impossible to keep inside. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes, because you're wrong." He says it in the most disgustingly smug tone the dignitary has ever heard.

Even though Jack is the supposed leader, the dignitary hates being talked back to in such a disrespectful manner. He detests it. And with the desert heat and his own fears and frustrations whirling inside of him, his cool exterior he knows it, he's advanced towards Jack and has punched him in the jaw.

Together they forsake their sanity and fall, kicking, clawing, and biting, upon the sand, becoming a rolling mass of violent black-carapaced limbs and tattered cloth. The dignitary forgets for a while that they were ever friends. He forgets about how he helped Jack dethrone the Queen. He forgets how he's helped Jack and the others through their harrowing desert journey, how they've all ate, slept, and fought together just to stay alive. All he knows is that it feels good to snap, to feel the other Dersite's yielding black carapace beneath his fist as he and Jack roll about and beat each other in the cold dark mud.

Wait...

Jack is below the dignitary, and the dignitary is about to deck the other Dersite's bruised and battered face, but instead he lowers his fist.

"What? Aren't you gonna hit me some more?" Blood and spittle fly up onto the dignitary's chest as Jack barks his challenge through swollen and cracked lips.

The dignitary shakes his head weakly and slides off Jack's body. Wet mud receives the dignitary's back end with a repulsive sticky sound, but he welcomes it no matter how filthy. He raises his hands disbelievingly to his face, and he can not help but flash an enormous and equally as rare smile when he sees his hands are covered in moist ooze.

Jack, despite his raving ramblings about knowing 'how close' they were, looks just as alarmed as he sits up, the mud sucking at his back as though reluctant to let go. He looks at his muddied legs, then at the smiling dignitary, and then at the short meadow of semi-aquatic grasses that, both him and the dignitary notice, eventually give away to nothing but calm water. It is invitingly blue, especially after seeing nothing but sand for months. Jack wastes not time in bolting off, gibbering something about how right he was.

Sore from the battle, the dignitary stands up and looks back to see the brute making his careful way down a huge hill of a dune that he hadn't even realized he and Jack had rolled down in their scuffle. At any other time the dignitary would have been embarrassed over losing his cool due to a verbal argument, but right now, he is too overjoyed, however secretly, about finding such an oasis, even if he knows Jack will later boast about how he 'knew it.'

When the brute is finally beside the dignitary, his tiny eyes are open so wide they actually seem large. "Am I...Please tell me I ain't dreamin'."

The dignitary sighs and pats him warmly on the back. "No. You're not. Looks like we're going to be alright after all. Come on, let's go find Jack."

They take off their sandals and wade into the water. The tall weeds are itchy on their ankles, but the cool water makes it worth the slight discomfort. The dignitary figures that if they can boil some water, cool it, and get it into the kid's system before the fever claims him first, they may be able to save the brute's little friend. Of course, first they must find Jack, the keeper of the matches. The dignitary hopes wherever Jack is, he hasn't gotten them wet.

Once they reach the point where the water is too deep for the weeds to take root, it reaches up to the dignitary's knees. It is then that they find Jack. Thankfully, he has kept his bag - thus their remaining matches - dry and is busy refilling their canteens. He sees them out of the corner of his eye and waves, though he does not look up and continues filling the empty containers.

The brute is by his side at once, asking politely for a canteen to give to the young man. A canteen is passed from Jack to the brute and is then given to the young man who welcomes it readily. The brute murmurs something reassuring to the boy that the dignitary doesn't catch.

"Shouldn't you boil that first?" The dignitary casts the canteen and the already sickened boy a concerned glance. "You know, alien planets, alien pathogens "

A filled canteen is forcefully shoved into the dignitary's face. "Shut the fuck up, asshole, and drink."

The dignitary concludes that such is Jack's way of saying he cares. The dignitary eyes the canteen suspiciously, then he shrugs and takes a sip while resisting the urge to chug the whole thing. It tastes a bit swampy, but he can't complain. At least he knows he has someone to blame if he gets sick.

"This is it, boys. This is our place." Jack's eyes have shed their maddened glaze in exchange for a sparkle of determination. If he remembers his fight with the dignitary, he has chosen to ignore it or forgive the other Dersite.

The brute looks up from the boy. "Don't mind me askin', but what's this 'place' of ours yer talkin' about?"

"Remember, all those nights we all spent talking with each other? About how if we lived through this shit we were going to build our own damn city and rule it our way? Well, this is where we're gonna build it. There might be nothing but dirt and rocks and muck here now, but we'll make it something grand. We're gonna make this place our own. Boys," he raises his stick high into the air and plunges it into the water and mud so that it stays when he lets go, "it's time to rise up."

The dignitary has his wrappings around his face again. Beneath them, he is smiling.


End file.
